


if you could see me now

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2509034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dad, I'm sorry." "For what?" "For reminding you of Mom."</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you could see me now

**Author's Note:**

> a request from an anon in exchange of a pic of Hilda--my OC of rivetra baby--from babymaker online.

For once Levi thinks he had seen Petra; the way she stands before mirror and combs her hair with fingers, and the dress. It’s the dress Petra wore when they met for the first time. He still remembers the color of the flowers; blue, orange, red. He still remembers the ribbon tied just at the front side of the dress. 

He still remembers it correctly, yet the person who wears it isn’t Petra. Petra doesn’t have black hair like him.

“Dad?” 

Her voice snaps him out of his daydream, and he sees her staring at him; she looks guilty, as if she was being caught at doing something she shouldn’t have. She isn’t. The dress belonged to her mother, and she has the right to see it.

“That looks good on you,” he finally says.

She looks down, biting her lip, unsure of what to say next. When she doesn’t answer, Levi nods to her again and walks away.

He’s never good at saying something in his mind, yet Hilda also seems to inherit it from him. They both are just two quiet people in a quiet house without another person who can make it better, who can make a laugh escapes from Hilda’s lips, who can make Levi smiles.

Petra used to do it, but she’s long gone. Expired. Passed away. Departed. Dead.

“Dad?”

Levi doesn’t realize Hilda’s already standing in front of him, looking slightly worried—and he still can see the guilt in her eyes. Her hazel eyes.

There’s something in him that always aches whenever he sees Hilda. Whenever she reminds him of someone he no longer can have. Someone who can’t be by his side. Someone who can’t see Hilda growing up. Someone both he and Hilda need.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out.

“For what?” he doesn’t mean his voice to sound cold and distant—like he always does. To everyone. Hilda is no exception and she knows sometimes her father doesn’t mean to sound it like that, but sometimes she can’t help but thinking when he means it, and when he does not.

“For reminding you of Mom.” There, she has finally said it. She looks down, not meeting her father’s eyes. She doesn’t even realize she’s still wearing the dress—Petra’s. She still looks sorry, guilty, and… scared? Why would she be scared?

People has always been saying she looks more like Levi than Petra, which she usually agreed and made a joke or two about it… _before_ she was gone.

Is that why Hilda is scared and guilty? That she knows she looks exactly like Levi, and she thinks he won’t be reminded of Petra when he sees her?

“Hilda—“ he always likes the way her name sound in his tongue. He just likes the short gap between L and D, and he has the same reason on why he liked calling _Petra’s_ name, whispering it at nights when she was still there, sleeping so close beside him he felt her warmth and got used to it. He loved that there was no gap between T and R, he could just say it all night long. _Before._

“—why would you even say that?” he continued.

She hesitated before answering. “Well…” she started, but stopping abruptly she bites her lower lip and still avoids his gaze. Even when she does that, she looks exactly like her mother when she was upset and sad.

“Come here,” he pats the empty seat next to him. He isn’t so much of a person who’s okay with closeness of other people; it took him such a long time before getting used of Petra’s warmth and her skin pressing to his when they were in bed, falling asleep next to each other. It took him such a long time before pulling himself away from her grasp and feeling like an asshole every time he did that.

He has long realized Hilda’s a lot like him more than she even realizes. She still needs space, not wanting to be that close to anyone. He doesn’t know if that’ll make it difficult for her to make friends or—although Levi prefers to think about this later—having a boy has a crush on her.

Levi slowly puts one arm around her shoulder, not pulling her closer to give her the space they both need, but also close enough to know he’s here for her.

“I don’t know if you do, but…” now it’s his turn to hesitate, wondering if he should just tell her the truth.

“—you always remind me of _her_.” _Petra_ , the name echoes in his mind, but he can’t even manage to say it out loud in front of their daughter. He has avoided calling the name by saying Mom, or Mother, to Hilda. And later at night, when she has fallen asleep, Levi will still stand by her bed, seeing her peaceful face. He’ll whisper Petra’s name, hoping Hilda will somehow know about the story behind her mother’s name, the reason why he won’t say it out loud in front of her, and also the reason why he always does that when she’s sleeping.

“How come?” Hilda asks, finally looking up at him with those hazel eyes—and for one second Levi doesn’t hear what she says when those eyes are staring at him. “I don’t look like her… do I? I look more like you and everyone knows that.”

“Do you know your eyes are like hers?” was all he says, silently cursing to himself for being too honest—he doesn’t want Hilda to look like that again.

And she does; she looks down again, as if not meeting Levi’s eyes will make him less remember.

“That’s okay, Hilda. I don’t want to forget.” He says. “When I call your name and you turn around… you look exactly like her. When you tilt your head to look at me. When you smile… should I go on?” He smiles and Hilda wonders when was the last time he looks happy and peaceful just with a thought of her mother.

“Don’t worry about it,” he continues. “It’s been years. I’m grateful there’s so much of her in you that makes it impossible for me to forget. But I don’t want to, that’s all.”

Her lips curl up into a smile and she’s still not looking at him, but he knows she’s feeling better.

“Dad…” she calls, her voice turns into a whisper. “Tell me more about her?”

And that’s when he realizes she only knows about Petra from anyone but him; she knows Petra love animals from her grandfather. She knows Petra always bring extra coffee for Hanji from Erwin. She knows Petra make soup for Eren, when he was sick, from Mikasa.

There’s so many things he doesn’t tell her, yet what a fool he is for thinking Hilda will somehow know Petra when they even had no time to get to know each other.

Is he too late?

“I don’t even know where to start…” he thinks about when they met, when he finally had enough guts to ask her out for a coffee, when he realized he was in love, when he saw her walking toward him down the aisle, when he thought she were still lovely especially with her swollen belly, knowing she was carrying and protecting their child. He also thinks about the time when he received the phone call—she got hit by a car when she walked home.

But what he doesn’t want to think is: how one minute she was still there, alive and probably rubbing her hands together to get some warmth—because she forgot her gloves and it was already snowing—while walking across the street, and one minute she wasn’t there, not breathing, her body that used to radiate warmth to him was growing cold.

Hilda was only two that time. Ma was her first word, also the only word she uttered when she saw many people in black surrounding her. She felt uncomfortable and uneasy, and Levi didn’t know what to do when she started crying. He was about to call out for Petra—when he realized, her _dead_ body was there, not being able to reach out to Hilda. To Levi. To her family.

“Do you miss her?” Hilda asks, resting her head on his shoulder, certainly feeling okay with the closeness. And so is he.

Does he miss her? Does he miss her every time he wakes up in the morning, to find the other side of the bed is empty and cold? Does he miss her when he walks by himself, remembering the way her hands were cold and she insisted on holding his hand? Does he miss her when he sees a stacked of books on the bedside table, thinking they will be unread? Does he miss her every time he sees Hilda, thinking they both didn’t get enough time to know each other?

“Of course,” is all he says.

And Hilda stays quiet, not saying or commenting about anything else. It’s already nighttime and Levi’s thinking of carrying her to her bedroom, like he always did when she was little, he just got home from work and found her asleep on the couch.

It was Mikasa who said Hilda wanted to sleep there just so she could wake up when he was home.

He wants to tell her more about Petra, but he’s not ready yet— _when_ will he? He wonders.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Is it possible to miss someone you don’t even know?”

Levi remembers when they both were longing for a presence of a child in their house. _It feels cold and lonely_ , was what she always said. But now, there are still two people in the house: him, and Hilda. Without Petra.

“Yes.” He answers.


End file.
